


Stiles Didn't Think This Through (or maybe he did)

by onceupon_adream



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, 5+1 Things, College, Don’t copy to another site, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Rebuilding the Hale House, Smut, Werewolf Courting, Wolf Derek Hale, a tiny tiny bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 11:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceupon_adream/pseuds/onceupon_adream
Summary: Stiles’s hand had been inching closer and closer to the plate for the past few minutes. He was trying to be subtle in his food-stealing—a hard thing to accomplish in a pack of wolves with super-sniffers—and he thought he had it made, when Derek’s hand closed on his arm. “Did you think this through?” Derek’s voice was low, and a little teasing.Or, five times Stiles tries to steal Derek's food, and one time Derek shares it with him.





	Stiles Didn't Think This Through (or maybe he did)

Stiles’s hand had been inching closer and closer to the plate for the past few minutes. He was trying to be subtle in his food-stealing—a hard thing to accomplish in a pack of wolves with super-sniffers—and he thought he had it made, when Derek’s hand closed on his arm. His grip was warm, and tight enough to stop him but loose enough that Stiles had no real reason to complain. Stiles took a moment to appreciate that; Derek learned this grip from experience. Stiles complaining about every time one of the wolves has accidentally hurt him with their ridiculous strength was enough to make a weaker man than Derek stop in his tracks.

“Did you think this through?” Derek’s voice was low, and a little teasing, if his raised eyebrow has anything to say about it. Stiles prided himself on having finally figured out how to tell what Derek’s tone is; it had taken him long enough. 

“It’s all in the eyebrows!” he’d said to Scott one day, hitting at Scott’s arm until he paused their CoD game and dropped his controller. “Derek’s eyebrows are the key to his mood! That’s why his beta shift is so weird, because his eyebrows disappear and I can’t tell what he’s feeling!” Scott had not shared Stiles’s enthusiasm, mostly because he can already get a fuzzy sense of what Derek is feeling through what Stiles calls their ‘mystical pack soul-bond.’ Derek calls that bullshit.

Stiles snatched his arm away, laughing a little to cover up how much he hadn’t wanted Derek’s hand to move. Ever. “I never think things through, man. That’s kind of my brand. Like that time freshman year that I was so stressed out from it almost being finals week that I drove all the way home from Stanford in a night.” 

College so far had been somewhat of a dark time…well, not really, Stiles was having fun and working his way through his Statistics major, (police officers, especially detectives, use data all the time) but he missed the pack. Last summer, they’d all been eager freshman determined to get internships, but this summer Derek had put his foot down. Apparently, they needed more time to pack bond than their non-overlapping spring breaks allowed, so everyone had found something to do in Beacon Hills for the summer. For Stiles, at least, that was easy: he was working for his dad, though mostly under Deputy Parrish’s (hot) supervision. 

Today was the first Friday night of the summer, and they were kicking off the new Alpha-approved (Alpha-insisted) weekly pack barbeque tradition. Which of course meant Stiles had to steal people’s food, because the non-human pack members had descended like a pack of (heh) wolves, and all that was left for Stiles, Lydia, and Allison was the gross chicken breast ‘heart-healthy’ alternative burgers Stiles had insisted on for his father. Who, Stiles was now noticing, had managed to infiltrate the ravening hordes for a real burger, the dirty cheat.

“That’s not your brand,” said Derek dismissively, bringing Stiles back to the here and now. Derek looked down at Stiles’s plate before Stiles could give that confusing comment the thought it deserved, and asked, “Why the fuck do you have one of those?” He gave the chicken burger a disgusted look and met Stiles’s eyes, looking worried. “Do you have bad cholesterol now too? Do you need the bite? Do you need Melissa to come take a look at you?” He drew in a breath and turned, presumably to call for Ms. McCall, who was sitting with Stiles’s dad near the edge of the yard, and Stiles took the opportunity to jump in.

“Oh my god, dude, no. After you beasts descended on the grill there weren’t any real burgers left. So I’m filling up on Ms. McCall’s homemade fries, which is why I was going after yours. Speaking of which—”

“No, Stiles.” Derek’s eyebrows returned to their normal grumpy state, and he moved his plate away from Stiles’s grasping fingers. “You should know better than to try and steal a wolf’s food.”

Stiles looked at him imploringly. Despite his gruff exterior, Derek was truly a marshmallow at heart. This Stiles had learned mostly in his last two years at college; specifically, the time he accidentally called Derek instead of Scott when he was especially lonely and complained-slash-cried for twenty minutes straight before Derek could get a word in. Derek had told Stiles to go get himself a milkshake and hung up, but the next day, Stiles found a care package that had been express-shipped to him from the one and only Sourwolf. It had been the start of a beautiful ~~romance~~ friendship. Derek had called him that evening to ‘check in,’ and it had become a weekly thing. The care package had never happened again, though, to Stiles’s displeasure. Those Reese’s brownies had been _good_ , damnit.

“Please? I’ll give you – “ Stiles cast about wildly for anything of value that he had on him (he was a college student, so, nothing) and eventually settled on “a hug? If that’s, like, something you do. I don’t want to ruin your rep.” Derek grumbled a little, and abruptly stood up, walking over to sit by Boyd and Erica. Stiles was disappointed for a second, until he realized Derek had left his plate behind. Score!

\--

The next day, after Deputy Parrish freed Stiles from the drudgery of learning when and why to fill out parking tickets, (“ _not_ when you just don’t like someone, or you think their car is ugly, Stiles”) Stiles drove over to Derek’s loft. While Derek had finally started work on rebuilding the Hale House during Stiles’s freshman year of college, it wasn’t necessarily livable yet, and, of all people, Lydia had put her foot down on Derek living there. She’d heard horror stories of the abandoned train car, then gone to see it in person, and had told Derek he was ‘not allowed to live anywhere that rats could also be living’ if he wanted to remain her alpha. It was a bit of an empty threat, because Lydia, like all of them, loved the pack too much to give it up, but it’d been a wake-up call for Derek that people actually cared about him. At least, that’s how Stiles had seen it, based on his analysis of Derek’s eyebrows at the time. 

The loft was nicer now, if a bit cluttered, because Derek had gotten a lot of stuff for the house that couldn’t actually be put in the house until it had a roof. Stiles skirted around two armchairs, stepped over an _actual tea set, holy shit_ , and flopped onto the couch, looking over the back of it at Derek in the kitchen. It smelled heavenly, and the number of dishes piled up suggested it was almost done.

“Whatever you’re making, can you make two? Or enough for two, if you can? Dad’s home right now, and I don’t feel like practicing what I preach.” Derek snorted and turned around, brandishing his spatula at Stiles.

“Didn’t we just have this talk yesterday, Stiles? About food, and wolves,” his eyes flashed, and his teeth elongated to about a two on the teeth-of-doom meter (1 was Stiles is horny, 10 was Stiles is terrified). 

Stiles grinned in what he hoped was a fetching, and not maniacal, manner. “But you left me your fries anyway! Think of this not as sharing but as, like, scavenging. The scavenging’s on my part, of course, because you’re a fearsome predator who has never scavenged a day in his life.” He said that last part in one breath, because Derek was advancing on him in a way that seemed distinctly, but playfully, threatening. 

“We’ll see,” said Derek. He returned to the kitchen, placated by Stiles’s sarcastic submission. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Oh!” Stiles bounced a little on the couch in his excitement. “I want to know what my brand is!”

“What?”

“My brand! Yesterday I said my brand was never thinking things through, and you said no it wasn’t, which makes me think that you think my brand is something else. So, what is it?” 

“Scavenging,” said Derek, handing him a Tupperware box, and shooing him toward the door. “Now go keep your dad company. He missed you.” Stiles rolled his eyes, but headed out to his car. He’s not hurt, really; he knows Derek likes his time alone. Besides, he got food out of the deal. Stiles opened the box once he got in his car, grabbed the fork Derek so conveniently placed in it, and dug in. It’s chicken parmesan, and it’s orgasmic. 

\--

On Wednesday night Stiles was having bro-time with Scott, two pizzas, and World of Warcraft when there was a heavy thudding on his front door. He exchanged a look with Scott, who flashed yellow eyes at him, and stalked to the door. He flung it open, and a whole-ass _wolf_ barged in. 

“What the fuck!” said Stiles, as the wolf scrabbled across the hardwood floor of the front hall and into the living room, where he and Scott had just been playing. “Um, Scott? Is this one of ours?”

Scott took a sniff. “Yeah, dude. It’s Derek. I didn’t even think to warn you—it’s Wednesday, he likes to run patrols on Wednesday nights. Like, checking up on everything. It’s a new thing he started when we left and he suddenly had a lot more territory to take care of by himself.”

“Okay, so why is he _in my house_? That’s _my_ territory!” Stiles exclaimed. Derek, meanwhile, was busily devouring one of the pizzas, which had been delivered mere moments before he arrived. 

“If you’re pack, your territory is his territory, dude. He’s used to you not being here to defend it, and your dad’s on the night shift a lot, I guess. Your dad told my mom that he usually leaves Derek a snack on Wednesday nights when he leaves.”

“Which is why he’s eating our pizza? Hey, give me that!” Derek had grabbed the box with the one remaining pizza with his teeth, but Stiles was hungry and hadn’t yet learned any sort of lesson about wolves and food, thanks but no thanks, Derek. He managed to pry open the side of the pizza box that wasn’t currently being slobbered on by an enormous wolf, and slid out two pieces of pizza. Derek growled threateningly, but Stiles held his ground. Finally, the wolf rolled his eyes (as much as a wolf could roll its eyes) and sat back on his haunches, happily destroying the six slices of pizza he had left. Stiles took a bite out of one of the slices he’d stolen, and tossed the other one to Scott, who let it fall to the ground, looking horrified. 

“What, man? Don’t you want to eat?”

“Um, not this particular pizza,” said Scott. He looked a little shifty, but before Stiles could start interrogating him, he headed to the door. From the doorway, Scott called, “I’m just gonna grab some take-out, bro, be right back!” and then hurried out before Stiles could ask for some too.

Stiles flopped down by Derek, sighing. “You’re a little shit, you know that? I think you’re the scavenger.” Derek puffed out his chest in response, growled lowly, and leapt gracefully out the still-open front door. Stiles munched on his sad, single slice of pizza, sighing.

\--

Stiles was out in the Preserve with Parrish on Thursday morning, looking for a weird type of plant that had apparently showed up at a crime scene recently, when he almost stumbled across Derek.

“Whoa, dude!” said Stiles, windmilling backward. “Uh, what’ve you got there? It looks like a dead fucking deer, but I _know_ it’s not a dead fucking deer, because that would fall under what has been banned as ‘suspicious werewolf activity.’” 

Derek rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth with a bloody hand. It came away even more bloody. “Oh, this? Yes, it’s a deer. I’m a wolf, Stiles, I need to act on my natural predatory instincts sometimes.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Is this about the scavenger thing? Cuz that was a joke, I was just mad because you ate all my pizza. Either way, though, you can’t just leave a dead deer that’s obviously been savaged by a wild animal lying around. If anyone but me and Parrish had been assigned Preserve duty today, we might have had animal control looking for another mountain lion.”

“I know,” said Derek. “I like venison, I was going to eat it.” 

“Raw?”

“No, I was going to cook it in a little werewolf oven.”

“Oh, stealing my jokes, are we? Look, that’s way too much meat to eat at once. Do you know how to butcher deer?”

“Yeah.” Derek shifted uncomfortably, then blurted, “Used to do it with my family. On the full moon, we’d get a little bloodthirsty, you know. Couldn’t leave too many dead animals around. But my freezer at the loft isn’t big enough for this amount of meat.”

“You could use our freezer! The one we keep in the garage, I mean. But only if we get some of it. Venison is healthier than cow meat.” Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek in challenge.

“I’ll set some aside for you,” said Derek, picking up the deer and throwing it over his shoulders. I will not find that hot, thought Stiles. I will not find that hot.

That afternoon, when he got back from work, Stiles looked in the freezer and found that what looked like maybe an eighth of the deer meat had been labeled ‘M. Stilinski.’ 

\--

On Friday afternoon, an hour or two before the barbeque was supposed to start, Stiles barged into Derek’s loft again.

“Do you know my real name?” he asked, accusatory. Derek burst out laughing, full-blown, head thrown back guffaws, and Stiles was gone. Shit, he thought. This is not just a crush. I don’t just want him to bone me, I want to make him laugh. Forever. 

When Derek’s laughter subsided, he said “No. I only got the first initial from Scott. He’s surprisingly hard to crack. What’s so bad about it, though? If it’s a girl’s name, there’s nothing wrong with that. You know my family all had rhyming names. I had an uncle named Eric.”

“It’s just impossible to pronounce,” said Stiles. “I’ll tell you the second letter and the country of origin if you let me at those homemade potato chips, though.” He reached out a hand for them, but again, Derek caught him, his hand a brand on Stiles’s arm. Stiles’s breath caught, and he looked up at Derek’s eyes, which were still crinkly from the laughter. He took a deep breath and surged upward. Derek’s lips were soft against his own, and his eyes were wide with surprise and—awe? Derek’s eyebrows had never done _that_ before. Before Stiles could overthink it though, Derek took a step forward, bringing his body up against Stiles’s in a line of heat and hardness, one arm behind Stiles’s back to bring him closer. Stiles squirmed until their dicks met up through their pants, and started grinding insistently. Derek gasped into his mouth, and they toppled backwards onto the couch. Stiles found Derek’s mouth again, slipped his tongue in, smiled. Derek pulled back to fit his teeth to Stiles’s neck, scraping the soft skin there, where Stiles’s heartbeat fluttered. He bit down just as he managed to shove a hand down Stiles’s pants, gripping his cock, and jerking it efficiently. Stiles came with a noise he refused to call a whimper, and Derek followed soon after, shuddering in the aftermath. They lay there for a few moments before Derek lifted Stiles off of him. 

“I need to change before the barbeque. You do too, now.” Derek grinned—dare Stiles say it—wolfishly, and kissed him on the lips. “One second.” Derek rummaged around in the kitchen for a few minutes, and then emerged, holding the bowl of potato chips, with a smaller bowl on top. “You can be in charge of bringing these over. I’ll see you there.” Stiles accepted another kiss, and was ushered out the door. He looked down at the bowl he was holding. The small one had a post-it note on it that said, ‘don’t let your dad see you eating these.’ Stiles grinned.

\--

Stiles got to the barbeque late, because he’d had to shower. He didn’t want any of the pack sniffing out what had happened that day before he had a chance to talk with Derek about it. As a result, though, all the good food was gone again. He grabbed a chicken burger and dejectedly made his way over to sit by Derek.

“Hey, stud.”

“That’s a no from me. Sweetheart, maybe,” Derek said, smiling.

“Are you serious? Because if you are, hell yeah I’ll call you sweetheart! But if not, tell me now so I can go eat my sad chicken burger and cry in peace.”

Derek’s smile grew wider, and he pushed his plate over to Stiles. It had two burgers on it. “One’s for you. Um, if you want it?” Stiles wasted no time, and immediately attacked the plate. 

“Of course I want it, Derek. I want it all. Food-wise and relationship-wise. Are we on the same page there?” Stiles asked anxiously.

“Wolves don’t share food with just anyone, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded wisely. “Right, just scavengers and Stileses, I guess. Hey, will you tell me what my brand is now?”

“Worming your way into my heart through stealing my food,” Derek deadpanned.

“Hey!”

“I’ll tell you what I think your brand is when you tell me what your first name is,” Derek countered.

“So, never. Or maybe at our wedding. You might have to know my legal name for that,” Stiles considered, before panicking slightly. “I mean, wedding? What? Not me! I have never thought about our wedding in great detail every time I come back from third-wheeling with Scott and Allison!”

Derek laughed, in the same way he had in the loft, practically forcing Stiles to crawl into his lap and kiss him breathless. When they pulled back, Derek said, “I haven’t thought about our wedding in great detail every time I cross the threshold of the new house and imagine carrying you over it, or vice versa.”

Stiles smiled, exulting, and stole one of Derek’s fries.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Kudos and comments are wonderful. Oh, and tell me if I accidentally switched tenses at any point, my fingers kept typing in present when I was trying to write in past.


End file.
